WANTED A STAMP.
"I am so old, so old, I can write a letter."
I had meant, you will remember, to write my letter to Pierson late at
night when everybody was in bed. I had been afraid of writing it till I
was sure everybody was asleep, for if the light in the nursery had been
seen, there was no saying what Mrs. Partridge might not have done, she
would have been so angry. So I settled in my own mind to get up in the
middle of the night--quite in the middle--to write it. But nobody--no
big person at least--will be surprised to hear that for all my plans and
resolutions I never woke! The beginning and the middle of the night
passed, and the end came, and it was not till the faint winter dawn was
trying to make its way through the smoky London air that I woke up, to
find it was morning--for a few minutes later I heard the stair clock
strike seven.
At first I was dreadfully vexed with myself, then I began to think
perhaps it was better. Even in the very middle of the night I might have
been seen, and, after all, the letter would not have gone any sooner for
having been written in the night instead of in the day-time. And in the
day-time it was easy for me to write without minding any one seeing me,
for Tom and I had our lessons to do for our tutor for the next day.
As soon as he had gone, therefore, I got my paper and set to work. I am
not going to tell you just yet what I wrote to Pierson. You will know
afterwards. You see I want to make my story as like a proper one as I
can, _in case_ aun---- oh, there I am again, like a goose, going to
spoil it all! I meant to say, that I have noticed that in what I call
proper stories, real book, printed ones, though it all seems to come
quite smooth and straight, it is really arranged quite plannedly--you
are told just a bit, and then you are quietly taken away to another bit,
and though you never think of it at the time, you find it all out
afterwards. Well, I wrote my letter to Pierson after Tom and I had
finished our lessons for our tutor. I told Tom I had written it, and
then--the next thing was how to get it stamped and taken to the post.
"I wish I had thought of buying a stamp when we were out this morning,"
I said. I have forgotten to tell you that in the morning, early, we had
been out a short walk with Sarah. Only a very short one however, for
Sarah had to hurry back, because of course Mrs. Partridge said she
needed her, and our tutor was coming at eleven. Still we were very glad
to go out at all.
"Sarah would have known; would you have minded?" said Tom.
Somehow it made me feel sorry and puzzled to hear him talk like that. We
had always been used to being quite open about everything--we had never
thought about any one knowing or not knowing about anything we did,
except of course surprises about birthday presents and those kind of
things. And now in one short week Tom seemed to have got into little
underhand ways--of not wanting people to know, and that kind of thing. I
had too, but somehow it made me more sorry for Tom than for myself--it
was so unlike his bright open way.
"No," I said, "I wouldn't have minded. At least not for myself, only
perhaps Mrs. Partridge would have scolded Sarah if she had found out we
had been to the post-office."
"How _shall_ we get it posted?" said Tom. "If we had a stamp I could run
with it. I saw a box for letters a very little way round the corner."
"Did you?" I said. "That's a good thing. Let's wait a little, and
perhaps there'll come some chance of getting out. I should think we
could get a stamp at some shop--there were shops round the corner too."
It was a great satisfaction to have got the letter written. I looked at
it with a good deal of pride--the address I was sure was right, I had
copied it so exactly from the one at the end of Pierson's letter. Though
the boys did not know exactly what I had written to Pierson, they seemed
to feel happier since knowing I had written something, and they had a
vague idea that somehow or other brighter days would come for us in
consequence.
Uncle Geoff had not been up to see us this morning--nor had he sent for
us to go down. I was very glad, and yet I did not think it was at all
kind. I did not know till a good while afterwards that he had not been
at home since the day before, as he had been sent for to a distance to
see somebody who was very ill.
At one o'clock we had had our dinner--it was not as nice a one as we had
had the other days, and we said to each other it was because Mrs.
Partridge was angry still about the toast. We said so to Sarah too, and
though she made no reply we could see she thought the same.
"And we shall have no strawberry jam for tea to-night," said Tom, sadly.
"No 'tawberry dam," said Racey, and the corners of his mouth went down
as if he were going to cry. He had been thinking of the strawberry jam,
I dare say, as a sort of make up for the dry rice pudding at
dinner--quite dry and hard it was, not milky at all, and Mrs. Partridge
knew we liked milky puddings.
"Don't be so sure of that," said Sarah, who was taking away the things.
"If you are all very good this afternoon I dare say you will have
strawberry jam for tea. Mrs. Partridge is going out at three o'clock,
and she won't be back till six, so the tea will be my business."
The boys were quite pleased to have something to look forward to, and I,
for my own reasons, was glad to hear Mrs. Partridge was going out.
It was, for November, a bright afternoon, much brighter than we had had
yet. Tom, who was standing at the window looking out, gave a great
sigh.
"What's the matter, Master Tom?" said Sarah.
"I would so like to go out and play in the garden," said poor Tom. "What
a horrid house this is, to have no garden! Sarah, aren't you going to
take us a walk this afternoon?"
Sarah shook her head. "I can't, Master Tom," she said; "Mrs. Partridge
is in such a fuss about going out herself as never was, and I've got a
great deal to do. But if you'll try to amuse yourselves till tea-time,
I'll see if I can't think of something to please you after that."
"It's _so_ long to tea-time," said Tom, discontentedly; "one, two, three
hours--at least two and a half."
"Couldn't we have tea sooner, Sarah," I said; "as soon as ever Mrs.
Partridge goes? We've not had a very good dinner, and I'm sure we shall
be hungry."
Sarah considered.
"Well, I'll see if I can't get it for you by half-past three," she said.
Two hours even to half-past three! And the more tempting look of the day
outside made it more tiresome to have to stay in. We really didn't know
_what_ to do to pass the time. I couldn't propose telling stories again,
for we had had so much of them the day before. Racey, as usual, seemed
content enough with his everlasting horses, but Tom got very tiresome. I
was trying to make a new lining to Lady Florimel's opera cloak with a
piece of silk I had found among my treasures. It was rather difficult to
do it neatly, and I had no one to help me, and as it was Tom's fault
that the other one had been spoilt, I really did think he might have
been nice and not teasing. But he was really _very_ tiresome--he kept
pulling it out of my hands, and if ever I turned round for a moment,
some of my things--my scissors or thimble or something--were sure to
have disappeared. At last I got so angry that I could be patient no
longer.
"Tom," I said, "you are perfectly unbearable," and I tried to snatch
from him my reel of sewing cotton which he had pulled away just as I was
going to take a new thread. But he jumped up on a chair and stretched
his hand out of my reach. I climbed up after him--I was crying with
vexation--and had nearly succeeded in pulling his arm down to get at the
reel tightly clasped in his hand, when unluckily--oh, how unlucky we
were!--the chair toppled over, and Tom and I both fell on the ground in
a heap. I screamed, and I think Tom screamed, and just at that moment
Uncle Geoff put his head in at the door. Was it not unfortunate? Such a
scene--Tom and I kicking and quarrelling on the floor, Racey crying
because in our fall we had interfered with what he called his railway
line round the room, a jug of water which Tom had fetched out of the
bedroom--threatening, to tease me, to wash Florimel's face--and which he
had forgotten to take back again, upset and broken and a stream all over
the carpet-- oh dear, it was unlucky!
We jumped up as quickly as we could, and stood silent and ashamed. Had
it been Uncle Geoff alone, I think we would have told him frankly how
sorry we were, and perhaps he would have got to understand us better,
but of course there was Mrs. Partridge stumping in behind him. Uncle
Geoff did not speak to us, he turned round to Mrs. Partridge at once.
"Really," he said, "this is too bad. If these children cannot be trusted
to be alone five minutes without risk of burning themselves or drowning
themselves, can't you let some one stay with them, Partridge?"
He spoke very sharply, and Mrs. Partridge's face got very red.
"I'm sure I don't know what more I can do," she said in a very injured
tone. "There's all the work of the house to do as usual, and indeed a
great deal more _now_, of course. And how I can spare any one to be all
day long with them I'm sure I can't see. I have to go away to Browngrove
in half-an-hour, all about the nurse for them, sir. I do think they
might try to be good and quiet for an hour or two, with every one doing
their best for them."
Uncle Geoff looked as if he really did not know what to say.
"I certainly think so too," he said. "I had no idea you ever quarrelled
with your brothers, Audrey," he added, glancing at me severely. "I
thought at least I could depend on you for that."
Then he turned to go away, and this time, knowing we _had_ been naughty,
we looked at each other in silence, too ashamed to speak.
"I do hope you will settle with this person and get her to come at
once," we heard Uncle Geoff say to Mrs. Partridge at the door. "This
sort of thing really cannot be allowed to go on."
"No indeed, sir," said Mrs. Partridge, quite in a good humour again,
apparently, as she had got us scolded instead of herself; "it is very
evident they need a firm hand."
"Horrible, _horrible_ old woman," burst out Tom, as soon as, or indeed
almost before, they were out of hearing. "Oh, it's all her that's
making me so naughty. I never was naughty to you at home, Audrey, was I?
Oh dear, oh dear! I do wish mother would come back quick from China, or
else we shall forget all about being good."
"And I did _so_ promise her to be good, and to teach you and Racey to be
good too, and to make you happy, and I can't. I don't believe mother
would want us to stay here if she knew how miserable we were," I sobbed,
and when Tom saw me sobbing, he began crying too, and then when Racey
saw us both he set off again, and so we all sat together on the floor
crying bitterly. Only one good thing came out of our unhappiness--we all
made friends again and kissed and hugged each other, and determined
never to quarrel any more.
"It does no good to quarrel," I said, sadly, "and any way that's one
thing we can do to please mother, whatever Uncle Geoff or any one says
about our being naughty."
We were very quiet for the rest of the afternoon till tea-time. We heard
Uncle Geoff's carriage come for him, and as by this time we had found
out the way of seeing from the night-nursery window, we were able to
watch him get in and drive away. And almost immediately after, a cab
came to the door, into which got Mrs. Partridge, and she too drove
away.
"She's gone about the new nurse," said Tom, but still we all looked at
each other with relief to think that Mrs. Partridge was really out of
the house, if only for an hour or two.
"We might make toast for tea to-day," I said, "without any one scolding
us."
"I feel as if I'd like to jump on to the table and make a _fearful_
noise," said Tom.
"That would be very silly," I said. "We should be as quiet as we can be
while she's out, so that every one can see it's not true we're naughty."
When Sarah brought up our tea she proved to be as good or even better
than her word. She had brought us not only the strawberry jam as she had
promised, but a beautiful big plateful of toast all ready buttered, and
as hot as anything. We were so pleased we all jumped up to kiss her,
which was a great honour, as the boys were very particular whom they
kissed. She looked very pleased too, but seemed rather hurried.
"Miss Audrey," she said, "I've been thinking after you've had your tea,
you might all come down to the big dining-room for a change. Your uncle
won't be in till late, and any way I'm sure he wouldn't mind your being
there, for it's all nonsense of Mrs. Partridge saying you're so
mischievous. There's lots of papers with pictures lying there for the
ladies and gentlemen to look at while they're waiting. I've got some
work I want dreadfully to get finished, for Mrs. Partridge never will
give me the least bit of time to myself, and if you can amuse yourselves
good in the dining-room I could be quite easy-like in my mind, for if
you wanted me you'd only have to come to the top of the kitchen stairs
and call me."
A sudden idea darted through my mind while she was speaking. Here was
the moment for posting my letter!
"Oh, yes, Sarah," I said, "we'd like very much to go to the dining-room,
and we'll do no mischief you may be sure. And you can get your work done
without troubling about us one bit."
"Thank you, Miss Audrey, and I hope you'll enjoy your tea," said Sarah,
as she left the room.
We did enjoy our tea exceedingly--the boys perhaps more than I, for I
was excited with the idea of what I meant to do, and I thought it better
not to tell Tom till the last moment. So we finished our tea, and Sarah
came up and took the things away and told us to follow her down-stairs
to the dining-room.
There was a nice fire in the dining-room and the gas was already
lighted. It was a pleasant change from the nursery where we seemed to
have been "such a lot of days," as Racey said. Sarah came up again from
the kitchen to see that we were all right before settling down to her
work, she said. She told us which of the papers we might look at, and
put a great heap of _Illustrated London News_ and _Graphics_ on the rug
in front of the fire for us, and we all sat down on the floor to look at
them. Then she went away saying she would come back in an hour to take
us up-stairs--the man-servant was out with Uncle Geoff, and the cook was
busy with the dinner, Sarah said, so there'd be a nice quiet time if
only nobody would come ringing at the door.
As soon as Sarah had left us, I pulled Tom close to me and whispered in
his ear.
"Tom," I said, "this is just the time for posting the letter."
Tom jumped up on to his feet.
"Of course," he said. "Give it me, Audrey. I can find my way to the
post-box _pairfitly_" ("pairfitly" for "perfectly" was another of Tom's
funny words, like "lubbish"). "I'll just fetch my cap, and tie my
comforter round my throat, and I'll be back in a moment."
He spoke in a very big-man way, as if all his life he had been
accustomed to run about London streets in the dark--for by this time it
really was dark--and I could not help admiring his courage and feeling
rather proud of him. Still I was startled, for I had never thought of
Tom's going all by himself.
"But you can't go _alone_, Tom," I said, "you're far too little. _I_
meant to go, if you would tell me quite exactly where you saw the
letter-box, and if you would promise me to stay here quite quiet with
Racey till I come back."
"Oh no, Audrey," said Tom, in a tone of great distress, "that would
never do. I couldn't tell you ezacktly where the letter-box is, though
I'm sure I could find it myself. And you're a girl, Audrey, and not so
_vrezy_ much bigger than me. And besides, I'm a boy. And oh, Audrey, I
do _so_ want to go!"
The last reason was the strongest I dare say, and it was honest of Tom
to tell it. I stood uncertain what to do. In his eagerness Tom had
spoken out quite loud, and Racey had stopped looking at the pictures to
listen. He sat on the floor--his little bare legs stretched out, his
mouth wide open, staring up at Tom and me. Then another thought came
into my mind.
"Tom," I said, "there's the stamp to get. You'd have to go into a shop
and ask for one."
Tom's countenance fell. This difficulty had more weight with him than if
I had gone on saying he was too little, though even without the getting
of the stamp I _could_ not have let him go alone. "He might be run over
or stolen or something dreadful," I thought, "and it would be my fault.
Oh no, he _mustn't_ go alone." But I felt as if he would be quite safe
if I went with him, though I dare say this must seem rather absurd, for
I was really not very much older or bigger than Tom, and of course I
knew no more about London.
"I wouldn't like that," he said. Then his face brightened up again.
"Let's _both_ go, Audrey," he exclaimed; "that would be far the best."
But before I had time to reply, a cry from Racey startled us.
"You must take me too," he said. "I won't stay here all alone. P'raps
the new nurse'll come and whip me."
He really seemed as if he were going to set off on a regular crying fit,
which would have spoilt all. And the precious time was fast slipping
away.
"Tom, you're sure it's very near," I said, "the post-box I mean?"
"Vrezy near--just round the corner," said Tom.
"Well then we'd better all go," I said. "I'll run up-stairs and bring
down your hats and comforters, and I'll get my hat and old jacket and
we'll all go. Now you two be quite quiet while I go up-stairs."
I knew I could go with less noise and far more quickly than Tom, and in
less than two minutes I was back again. I tied on Racey's comforter and
hat, and Tom put on his own. Then we were all ready--but, oh dear, how
could we get the big front door open without noise? I quite trembled as
I stood up on tip-toe to turn the lock handle. But after all it was a
very well-behaved door. It opened at once without the least creak or
squeak, and in another moment the boys and I stood on the steps outside.
Tom was going to shut the door, but I stopped him. "It would make such a
noise," I said, "and besides we'd much better leave it open to get in
again."
I pulled it gently to, so that from the street no one, unless they
looked very close, could have seen it was open, and then with Racey's
hand in mine, and Tom trotting alongside, we went down the steps and
turned the way which Tom said he was sure led to the post-box he had
seen.
There were not many people in the street in which our house was. It was
a quiet street at all times, and just now was, I suppose, a quiet time
of day. The pavements too--fortunately for our house shoes, which we
had quite forgotten about--were perfectly dry. We walked along pretty
quickly till we came to a corner which Tom felt sure was the corner near
which was the letter-box. We turned down the street, and to Tom's
delight, a little further on, there, sure enough, was the pillar-post.
"Now, Audrey, you see--wasn't I right?" exclaimed Tom. "Where's the
letter?"
It was already in my hand, but, alas! "Oh, Tom, the stamp!" I said.
"There must be shops somewhere near where they would give us one."
"Oh yes, sure to be," said Tom, whose success had made him quite
valiant, "come along, Audrey. We'll turn this next corner--I hear a hum
of carriages and carts going along. There's sure to be a big street
there."
So there was, what seemed to us a very big street indeed--brilliantly
lighted, with quantities of horses and cabs and carriages and carts of
all kinds in the middle, and numbers of people on the pavement. Tom fell
back a little and took hold of my other hand, Racey squeezed the one he
held more tightly.
"We'll just go a very little way," said Tom. "Audrey, what sort of shops
is it that they sell stamps in?"
"I don't know," I said. "We'd better ask somewhere, for if we go much
further we'll lose our way."
The shop, just opposite which we were then passing, was a chemist's. I
pulled the boys forward, though Tom was rather unwilling, and wanted to
stay outside; but I was too terribly afraid of losing them to let go of
either of their hands for a moment. And so we all three went in. There
were several grave, rather dignified-looking gentlemen standing behind
the counters--one seated at a little desk writing, one or two others
putting up bottles and jars on the shelves. As we came in, one stepped
forward.
"What do you want, little--" "little girl," no doubt he was going to
say, for seeing three such young children coming in alone, of course he
thought at first that we must be what Racey called "poor children." But
when he looked at us again he hesitated. I was too anxious to get what I
wanted to feel shy.
"If you please," I said, "is there a shop near here where they sell
stamps?"
The grave young gentleman smiled.
"Postage stamps, do you mean?" he said.
"Yes," I replied, "I only want one. I have a penny."
"They are to be got at the post-office in ---- Street--a very little
way from this, on the right-hand side," said the young man. He turned
away as he spoke as much as to say "That is all I can do for you. Now
you had better go away."
I stood for a moment uncertain what to do--the boys looked up at me in
perplexity and trouble. It was terrible to think of having to go still
further along that crowded street, and having to ask again for the
post-office. I was neither shy nor frightened for myself, but I felt the
responsibility of the boys painfully. Supposing some harm happened to
them, supposing they got run over or lost--supposing even that it was so
late when we got home that we had been missed and that Uncle Geoff and
Mrs. Partridge were to scold us fearfully--I should feel, I knew I
should--that it had been all my fault. I was half thinking of asking the
grave young man if the boys might stay in the shop while I ran on to the
post-office alone (only I felt sure Tom would greatly object to such an
arrangement), when another person--a grave-looking gentleman too, but a
good deal older and less hurried, it seemed to me, than the
other--stopped, as he was crossing from one counter to another, and
spoke to us. His voice was very kind, and somehow I felt sure he had
little boys and girls of his own at home.
[Illustration: "Has any one attended to you, my dear?"]
"Has any one attended to you, my dear?" he said.
"Yes, no, at least, I don't want to buy anything," I said. "It's only
for a stamp, and I don't like taking the boys any farther along the
street for fear they should get lost. It's so dreadfully crowded
to-night."
The gentleman smiled at this, but his smile was nicer than the other
one's smile, for it didn't seem as if he was laughing at me.
"And are you not afraid of getting lost yourself?" he said. "You are a
very little girl to be out without a nurse."
I got really alarmed at that. Supposing he were to call a policeman and
send us home with him, as I had heard was sometimes done in London with
lost or strayed children! What a terrible fuss it would make.
"Oh, no," I said eagerly. "We've come such a little way. It was only to
post a letter, but I have no stamp. Please I think we'd better go and
try to find the post-office."
I took tight hold of the boys' hand again, and we were turning to go,
when our new friend stopped us.
"Stay," he said, "if it is only a stamp for a letter that you want, I
can easily give you one."
He turned towards the man who was writing at the desk place and said
something quickly, and the man held out a stamp which the gentleman
handed to me.
"Shall I put it on the letter for you?" he asked.
"Oh no, thank you," I said, in a great hurry to get away now that I had
actually the precious stamp in my possession. "I can put it on quite
well. Here is the penny, and thank you very much for the stamp."
He took the penny quite seriously. I was glad of that, and liked him the
better for it. Had he refused it I should have been really offended.
"And what will you do with the letter now?" he said. "Shall you not have
still to go to the post-office to put it in?"
"Oh no," I said, "there is a pillar-post quite near our house."
"And you are sure you know your way?" he said as he opened the shop-door
for us. "What is the name of the street where you live?"
I hesitated. Curiously enough I had never heard the name of the street
where Uncle Geoff lived--I looked at Tom and Tom looked at me. He did
not know it either.
"I don't know the name of the street," I said, "but I am _sure_ we can
find the way. Can't we, Tom?"
"Oh yes, I am _sure_ we can. We live at our uncle's, Dr. Gower's," added
Tom, for which I frowned at him.
"At Dr. Gower's," repeated the chemist with surprise. "Dear me-- I don't
think your uncle would be pleased if he knew you were out alone.
However, as you say, it is very near--and I shouldn't like to get them
scolded, poor little things," he added to himself. "I can tell you the
name of the street--it is ---- Street--remember that, and now run home
as fast as you can. First turn to the right."
We thanked him again and ran off.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]